‘She’s been a consistent no comment.’ Frankie raised an eyebrow. ‘Why? Have you tried?’

‘Not yet, but I will. I don’t see why any of them should get away with it.’

‘No one’s saying they will, Leanne, but you need to be prepared for things not to go as you might wish. I agree wholeheartedly that the renovation was a vanity project, but I’m not sure I’d go as far as to say there was negligence, not yet. The fire investigators have given nothing away so far.’ She paused and wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, almost nothing.’

When Frankie flicked a glance at the discarded files, and one file in particular, Leanne sat upright. ‘What have you heard? Is it about Declan?’ she asked, pulling his file towards her. Frankie didn’t object when she opened it.

‘Don’t get too excited, and do not let Mal know I’ve mentioned this to you,’ she warned. ‘You might have been right to question what Declan was doing there. You’re not the only one wondering why the coroner couldn’t give the same assurance he gave to other families before suspending the inquests. According to my source, Declan’s injuries were unlike any of the other victims’.’

‘They think he was murdered?’ Leanne asked. She had to admit, she had fantasised about killing him herself had he lived, and wouldn’t be surprised if someone had beaten her to it. If you couldn’t blame an electrician for an electrical fault that killed eleven innocent people, who could you blame?

Frankie gave her a withering look. ‘Didn’t I just say, don’t get too excited? The comment made to me was that the investigators were concentrating on where he was found and where he had been. Read into that what you will.’

Leanne’s mind made leaps and bounds. ‘So my theory holds, he could have sneaked into the offices. It was an enclosed space, and if the fire had reached there, he could have suffered burns. Or maybe he did some burning of his own to destroy evidence.’

‘And that would be why they haven’t released any of the forensic evidence until the public inquiry has concluded its investigations – so people don’t start coming up with their own theories.’

‘He’s guilty as hell, whatever he was up to,’ Leanne said, removing the cover sheet to reveal the employee photo that had been provided by Ronson Construction. It was a head and shoulder shot and, despite the harsh lighting, the thirty-seven-year-old electrician from Donegal was handsome, with deceptively kind eyes. What was he thinking in his last moments? Did he realise people were dying, some of them no more than children? Did he care?

‘We’re not going to get any answers until mid-November,’ Frankie said. ‘That’s the latest timescale for when we’ll receive the official verdict.’